This seems like some sort of essay assigned at college, some unimaginable problem that really doesn’t have a solution. At this point, it’s nearly impossible to describe why people care about sports without coming across like Kevin Costner during his speech in Bull Durham.
But let’s give it a go.
With words
Every green is as lush and full as Augusta’s…except for the ones at St. Andrews, which appear to be what happens when the Greenskeeper decides to try a new setting on the lawnmower.
Every baseball diamond is as perfectly manicured as a Manhattan socialite and is as sacred as Westminster Abbey.
The football fields that dot the country contain an orgy of violence that’s not too far removed from the days of the Gladiators, with the cries for blood reaching a fever pitch as one group of men attempt to pummel the others into some sense of submission.
The courts? Indoors, they’re always Mr. Clean’s head shiny…and squeak and rattle with the cacophony of the symphony being played on them, as the players weave and slide and leap to victory. Outdoors, the game is as unforgiving as the blacktop. Either you can hang at that talent or you can’t…and nothing will change that fact.
And the rinks, the places where the ice is cold enough that it leaves your breath hanging for that split-second, cold enough that the sweat building up on the players’ faces freezes within seconds. Where the ice, white as the pure snow, radiating the little black disk as it moves from tape to tape, stick to stick, in one beautiful theatrical display.
The athletes
People who don’t look like they belong to the same species as us. It’s as if someone created a special factories to build specimens that have the same features as human beings…only with some major anatomical changes like–
Core strength that would make Ryan Reynolds jealous.
Legs that double as tree trunks.
Arms that look like something that they stole from Over the Top.
Biceps on top of triceps on top of anything-ceps.
Shoulders that could hold dinner trays, plural.
And though some of these people have what could be described as “a five-cent head,” outside of the sport, most understand signs straight out of the Navy handbook and systems that make nuclear physics look like Chemistry 101.
Add that all up, and it’s not hard to see these people as superhuman, rather than mere flesh and blood.
The coaches
Men and women who are both professor and psychiatrist, general and gym teacher. In fact, let’s put some of them in these positions.
Over at Big U, Professor Wooden is leading his charges through writing a paper in Writing 101, teaching them how to properly grip a pencil. Down the hall, Professor Jackson is teaching a class on Philosophy and Literature, starting with the novel, “The Right Mistake” by Walter Mosely. Across the way, at the History building, Professor Belichick is teaching Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War,” telling his students the sacrifices for victory. And in the Languages building, Professor Babcock is teaching his students the proper way to speak Canadian.
Meanwhile, at two local high schools, Mr. Gruden and Mr. Cowher are putting the charges through a fun-filled day of dodgeball, as spittle fly and voices reach octaves that only dogs can hear. Across town, Mr. Guillen is doing the exact same thing…only it’s in Spanish and involves a lot of profanity.
Meanwhile, near the city, Drs. Brooks and Bowman are discussing what’s the best move for their patients. In a room down the hall, Dr. Torre is mulling over his options before going with his gut for the next move. More often than not, he’s right.
And at the army base, Generals Hayes and Knight are discussing what they should put the charges through, before passing the plan off to Colonel Krzyzewski. He informs them that if they are a second late, they will run until their bodies turn to mush.
The fans
They give up all rational perception to follow a group of people, who, if they are lucky, will speak to them once in their lives. But that doesn’t hold back the fan, who serves as supporter, critic, lover and hater, with more moods than a hormonal teenager.
At games, perfectly normal people will dress in specific jerseys of their favorite players (who they, in almost ever circumstance, have never met), shout insults at the opponents (who they, in almost every circumstance, have never met) and generally scream themselves hoarse within two hours.
And that’s not including the tailgate(which even happens at high school football games) and the face paint.
In fact, if an alien was to see this, he’d probably say something like “What is going on? Some kind of ritual?”
And the guy sitting next to him would say “Nah, man, the game is starting soon. Here, drink this and put this on.” He’d hand the alien a shirt and a beer and somewhere in his notes, the alien would record this “sports.” It’d probably right before the planet blew up.
But at least he got to see the Browns game, right?
The moment
See, that’s what people who don’t like sports miss. Sure, games can be boring and sure, things sometimes can be monotonous. And yes, most of this doesn’t make sense…ok, none of it really makes sense.
But once, every game, there’s one of those jaw-dropping plays, the kind that makes you either wish or thank God that you brought a camera. The kind that make you go “Oh my goodness, is that even humanly possible?”
The kind that take you to a higher place.
See, that’s the crazy thing about sports. There’s never a simple moment, never some play that doesn’t occur in this fashion. There are millions of these plays, from the fields and courts and rinks of high school to the professional ranks.
Millions of reasons to watch and listen and be amazed. Millions of memories to be made and stored, so that you can tell the grandchildren about the amazing play you saw the running back from Team Ohio make in the Big 33.
That is, until you see the next play.
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